


Spoils for the Victor

by VSSAKJ



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: M/M, Self-cest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-26 08:51:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17742824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VSSAKJ/pseuds/VSSAKJ
Summary: “You took up the axe?”Maybe it isn’t the cleverest thing to say upon meeting a duplicate of yourself, but it’s the first thing Ephraim can think of.





	Spoils for the Victor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azurrys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azurrys/gifts).



> Happy Chocobox—this is a quick little Heroes-inspired treat. Hope it satiates some of that Ephraim thirst of yours!

“You took up the axe?”

Maybe it isn’t the cleverest thing to say upon meeting a duplicate of yourself, but it’s the first thing Ephraim can think of. And indeed, as he tightens his grip around Siegmund, he finds it's a question that he wants answered. How dare any form of himself discard Siegmund? He, Ephraim, has always worked towards superiority with the lance, and the use of an axe is intolerable. Insulting! He would never.

His duplicate, resplendent in shining green and gold armour, hefts the weight on his shoulder and tilts his head just so, answering with a shrug. “I wanted a challenge.”

“Oh, I'll give you a challenge.” Ephraim replies hotly, shifting his stance to an aggressive one. There needs be only one Ephraim, and that’s him, the true Ephraim: Eirika’s unparalleled twin brother and the lance-bearing son of Renais.

As his alternate moves to meet him, Ephraim studies the way he places his feet, the way he bears the haft of his axe, the way his eyes move. Despite himself, he feels a fire coming to life within him. His alter's muscles bulge beneath his weighty armour and the sight arouses a hunger in him Ephraim’s never experienced before.

He’s never had the chance to watch himself do battle—never been able to see what it looks like when he goes all out. Maybe he'll learn something from this. Maybe he'll _enjoy_ this.

His axe-bearing self moves quicker than Ephraim expected him to, and Ephraim raises his lance in defense only at the last possible moment. “Hah!” His other self shouts in exaltation, reeling back for another huge, arcing swing. The momentum it’ll give him is easy to predict; Ephraim whirls out of the way and springs into a plunging motion, which reverberates all the way up his spear as its point strikes on hard metal.

The other Ephraim has a _shield_ too? “Coward!” Ephraim shouts, as the duplicate pushes him backwards with the giant slab of metal. Over the edge of the shield, Ephraim can see eyes that must be identical to his own, dancing with excitement and blazing with battlelust. It’s exhilarating—it’s thrilling.

“I’m not a coward.” The alternate retorts, bashing against his defensive posture and forcing him back step after step. The other Ephraim’s victorious grin would be dazzling if it wasn’t so infuriating. “I’m just stronger than you.”

“No one’s stronger than me.” Ephraim rumbles, dropping to one knee after a backstep and lunging into a sideways roll, taking him out of the other Ephraim’s path. As his hulking duplicate turns, axe and shield both raised, Ephraim leaps forward, landing on the other Ephraim’s back. The axe and shield drop from the other Ephraim’s hands as he reaches back to grapple at Ephraim’s shoulders, while Ephraim swings Siegmund around his duplicate’s neck and holds it fast.

“You’ve lost.” Ephraim hears himself boasting, but all he’s aware of is how close his mouth is to his other self’s ear. He imagines what his breath must feel like, hot and coming in panting, rhythmic exhales. He notices that his alternate has gone particularly still, and that he feels no urgency to disengage his position, flush against his duplicate’s back with his feet planted firmly on the ground.

“... I have.” The other Ephraim agrees, breathing hard. Ephraim knows the notes in his own voice—of course he knows what his own arousal sounds like. The extra weight hanging in the back of his throat, the hitching edge to his words. It’s a tone of voice only a few people have heard before, his dear sister among them.

Without allowing himself to lose purchase, he slides his hands onto the other Ephraim’s shoulders, applying pressure. His alternate hesitates for a moment before sinking onto one knee with a shudder—Ephraim knows the internal feel of _that_ motion, too. He slides his grip into his duplicate’s hair and pulls the other Ephraim’s head back enough to meet his eyes with a grin. His confidence is usually limited to the battlefield, but against himself?

He knows just what he wants.


End file.
